


Dragons Don't Get Sick

by xanavici



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sick Fic, grumpy dragon man refuses to admit hes sick, local cowboyfriend comes to the rescue, more at 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanavici/pseuds/xanavici
Summary: Hanzo is not sick.  Dragons do not get sick.  Why doesn't anyone believe him?





	Dragons Don't Get Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McTiddiezo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McTiddiezo/gifts).



> Feel better soon bae <3

“Dragons do not get sick.”

Hanzo doesn’t understand why no one will listen to him because he’s right and he is most definitely not sick.  Dragons do not get sick.

“Brother you know that is not true.  Yes they protect against common illnesses but this flu is not common.  Please go see Angela. Please,” Genji pleads as he tries to keep up with Hanzo’s fast pace.  He doesn’t know why his brother is being so stubborn; anyone who looks at him for longer than two seconds could see he is very obviously sick.

Hanzo stops and rounds on his heel to stare Genji down.  “I am not sick.” The conviction in his voice is ruined slightly by his puffy eyes and sniffling and Genji just wants to strangle him, but Hanzo turns back around and continues walking to the practice ranges.

Genji throw his hands up in exasperation.  He wishes McCree was here. Hanzo would listen to him.  Unfortunately the cowboy is still away on his mission and won’t return until late tomorrow.

“You know what?  Fine! But don’t come crawling to me later when you accept that I’m right.”  Hanzo’s victory is slightly soured by the tickle in the back of his throat as Genji storms away.  

_ I am not sick. _

No, it’s just a head cold.  A head cold he’s had for four days now but surely it’s getting better.  Disregard the fact that he gets slightly light headed every time he stands up or that his sinus pressure is about to make his head explode or that the simple walk to the shooting range has him sweating buckets.  He’s fine.

Eventually Hanzo makes it to the range.  He goes through his stretches, swaying slightly every time he has to bend over and go back up, then sets up in front of the targets.  With a deep breath he focuses, pulls back on the bowstring, and almost drops his bow. It’s feels like the very first time he picked up a bow, when he was 9 years old and didn’t have enough muscle to draw it back even half way.  

With far more effort than it should require Hanzo tries again, finally getting it to full draw at a snail's pace.  He releases the arrow almost immediately and watches it bury itself in one of the middle rings. He collapses against the short barrier and takes gasping breaths.  Fuck, this should not be this hard. Maybe… maybe he is just a little sick, but it's definitely not the flu. The thought of trying to shoot another arrow has his muscles shaking and he has to admit that maybe he should take a little break, just a short nap to get his energy back.

Hanzo packs up his things and, in a daze, somehow makes it back to his room.  To be honest he doesn’t remember most of the trek back. In the safety of his room, his bow and quiver gets dropped in the corner and he barely makes it to the bed before he collapses in a heap.  His last thought before he passes out? 

Genji is going to be insufferable about being right.

 

* * *

When Hanzo wakes up, its to the feeling of a cool cloth on his forehead and warm blankets over his shivering body.  He moans weakly and a face suddenly appears in his vision. He must be hallucinating, and therefore much sicker than he though, because absolutely no one is that beautiful.

“Hey there Darlin’.”

Oh, its Jesse.  Well, he still must be hallucinating because he’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow.

“Boy am I glad we wrapped up early.  How long ya been sick, Han?”

“ ‘m not sick…” Hanzo slurs.

Jesse just laughs softly.  “Course ya ain’t. Go back to sleep, honey.  I gotcha.”

Hanzo tries to fight the weight pulling his eyes shut, but between the hand running through his hair and the quiet humming, he doesn’t stand a chance.

 

* * *

The next time Hanzo wakes up, he feels slightly less like death and he’s alone.  He’s still under the sheets but there’s no cool washcloth, or leather clad cowboy.  His heart tightens with hurt. He wishes it wasn’t a hallucination, he wishes Jesse was actually here taking care of him.  

For most his life he had to rely only on himself when he was hurt or sick.  He couldn’t trust just anyone to watch his back, not while he was in the clan, and definitely not while he was in exile.  The only person he ever did trust to do that he murdered and cut off that support for forever, or so he thought. Having Jesse there, easing his pain and looking out for him… its something Hanzo never knew missed this bad, and even that figment of his imagination was enough to get him addicted.

With all the energy he could muster Hanzo tries to push himself up to sit upright, but can barely make it up to his elbows before he’s utterly exhausted.  With a defeated sigh he flops back down and accepts his fate of being absorbed by his bed, doomed to never leave again.

His wallowing is interrupted by the door sliding open with a quiet hiss, and Jesse himself walking in with a bowl of something.  Hanzo doesn’t know what it is but he doesn't care. It smells absolutely amazing and he needs it.

“Hey Darlin’, glad to see yer finally awake.”

“Jess?” Hanzo throat is sore and scratchy and it takes him a couple tries to clear it.  “What are you doing here?”

“I thought it was obvious, I’m helping my sick and completely helpless boyfriend get better,” he jokes.

“No, I mean I thought you weren’t supposed to get back until tomorrow.”

Jesse looks at him with a curious look.  “Han I got back yesterday morning, almost 24 hours ago.”

“What?  But- What day is it?”

“Tuesday, sweetheart.”

That can’t be right, he went training on Sunday.  How the fuck did he miss a whole day and a half?”

“Honestly I ain’t surprised.  I’ve never seen a flu this bad before,” Jesse says as he puts the bowl down on the nightstand and pulls up a chair.

“But I am not sick,” he weakly protests, but it doesn’t sounds convincing even to himself now.

“Sugar, yer sicker than a dog who went to hell an’ back.  But I think yer on the mend. Yer fever broke sometime in the middle of the night and ya got some of yer color back.”

“...”

Hanzo says nothing.  Pride refusing him to admit the truth.  Jesse just smiles and rolls his eyes.

“Here, sit up so ya can try some of this.”

Jesse helps Hanzo lean up against his pillows and hands him the bowl of what looks like soup.

“What is this?”

“Old recipe from home.  My abuela used to make it for me every time I got sick.  Got enough spicy in it to raise the dead and burn out any illness.”

Hanzo hesitantly takes a bite and almost chokes on the amount of pepper scalding his mouth.  But once he manages to swallow he can taste the rich flavors underneath. Before he knows it he’s digging in, regardless of the pepper, and scraping the bowl once its empty to get the last few bites.

Hanzo relaxes back into the pillows with a satisfied groan and lets Jesse take the bowl away.

“How ya feelin’, honey?”

“Better.  Thank you.”

They share a tender moment of silence after that.  Jesse brushing Hanzo’s hair out of his face and checking his temperature with the back of his hand.  Hanzo soaking up all the care and attention with half-lidded eyes.

Eventually though, Jesse stands up and says, “Well, lemme get out’a yer hair so you can get some more rest.”

Hanzo, with reflexes that have marginally improved, manages to snag Jesse’s wrist before he gets too far away.

“Stay?  Please?”

Jesse smiles and doesn’t waste a second getting comfy again in the chair.

“Anythin’ fer you.”

Jesse twists his arm and takes hold of Hanzo’s hand, taking the time to draw abstract shapes on the back of it while Hanzo’s breathing evens out and his eyes close completely.

Hanzo’s last thought before he passes out again?

He’s never loved someone, as much as he loves Jesse McCree.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](https://cryptidhanzoshimada.tumblr.com/)


End file.
